


Left Undone

by zeldadestry



Category: Firefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-15
Updated: 2006-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:25:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ain't nightmares, just dreams, bad dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Undone

They ain't nightmares, just dreams, bad dreams.

He is back at the Heart of Gold, empty now and much bigger, corridor after corridor, staircase after staircase, and he is trying to find his way through. Nandi is behind him, and sometimes he puts his hand back and she grabs it in her own, skin once as soft as Inara's, but calloused now. He loves it for this roughness, her proof of tough survival. He touches her hand, and then she slips away again. They walk on, he reaches back, she's still there. Their hands part and they walk on. It could happen a hundred times in one night. Nandi's there, she's right there, she's with him, and then there's nothing. He stretches his arm back further and further, until it feels it's going to pop from its socket, and all that meets him is the breeze. He continues to wander the abandoned building, and with each step it grows colder. He's looking for any spot of sunlight, any sign that will lead him back outside. He keeps going, keeps going, he keeps pressing his hands behind him, waiting for Nandi to return and take them. As it grows colder, it grows darker, and soon he has to bring his hands in front of him, needs to use them to help him feel his way. Now he will never find her. Even if she's right behind him, he won't know. He's alone.

Inara marries Atherton Wing, and Mal is there, wounded again, like in the duel. He lies in the dirt, his fingers pressed against his wound, trying to stop the blood, which is sticky and hot as it pours away. So much blood, he shouldn't be conscious, but he's still able to see, as the preacher arrives and the ceremony starts. Inara is on her knees, dressed in white, a veil covering her face. Pronounced man and wife, Wing kisses her through the veil. Everyone disappears except for Inara; she rises and walks slowly to him. There are bells sewn to ribbons tied round her ankles, and with each step they ring, loud as a church's after the service is done. Dust you are, she says, voice like honey, like always, kicking at his legs, then at his side. Return to dust, fallen man. He asks to see her face, just once, once more, and she puts out her hand for coin. He does what he swore he'd never do, he puts the money in her hand, so he can have what he needs, have her.

He is married to Saffron, and he loves her. He wants to love her. He kisses her and makes her smile and he believes she loves him, too. And then he watches her bring men home, seduce them in their bed, and he does nothing, waits till she's finished setting her trap to rob them blind, and asks to touch her strawberry hair. She can't help it, he reminds himself. She wants to be better, she wants to be good, but she's a snake. Snake can't help what it is, can't help that when it bites you, it's got the poison under its tongue. Saffron spreads the poison on her lips, but she can't do otherwise. It's a man's fault for thinking he deserves someone like her.

Jayne lies in the dirt. The job was a failure, a suicidal mix of desperation and arrogance and now they've paid the price. He's been shot in the head and his eyes are still open and Mal thinks they should bring the body to the Mudders, who will bury it with honor. They will hold a funeral pyre in front of their statue, their statue will still stand, even after the man has become ash. Mal bends down, closes the eyelids gently, closes his own eyes for a moment of silence, and when he opens them again, Jayne's looking right at him. His heart jolts in his chest and he bends down to check the pulse again, though he knows there's no chance of resuscitation. The process repeats itself, repeats itself, like reaching his hand back for Nandi, over and over he closes Jayne's eyes and over and over they open and do not even look to judge him. It's just the same look he's seen too many times before, a hope there, but for what? What do they think he can give them, those who have served with him? He has never known. Now those eyes seem to say, can't ya bring me back, Cap'n? It's dark, it's cold, where I am and I don't like it. Can't you bring me back?

He tells Simon and River that he's got something to show them. They follow behind him like children as he leads them down dirty alleys, far away from the center of town. Out here on the outskirts, he tells them he has a present for them. He tells them to close their eyes and count to a hundred. It's a game, River says. I know this one, I've played it before. It's hide and go seek. He runs away, he runs as fast as he can, he leaves the ground, he's flying, and he moves his arms in front of him, kicks his legs, like he's swimming through humid air. They'll never find him now. He's free of them, and he's glad, even though he knows it's only a matter of time before the Alliance catches up with them. When he gets back to the boat, Kaylee and Zoe stand before him, naked, their arms around each other. What have you done? Zoe asks. He tries to explain that it was a trade. If he had left them, if he had left them, wouldn't Wash still be alive, and Book, too?  
Zoe, Zoe, he says, where's Wash? Hasn't he returned to you?  
Not like this, Cap'n, Kaylee says. You're not my Cap'n anymore. Thinking you can trade one blood for another, two bodies dead and the other two will rise again? You ain't even a man. You ain't even human. No life, no death.  
They take him into their arms and he willingly goes, kisses their necks, buries his face against their breasts, his fingers slide between their swollen lips. They pin him down, they ask if he would like to know what it was like for Simon and River. Does he want to feel as they felt? They cut him down the middle with a scalpel, they rummage through his chest for a secret he did not even know he held. This, though, is not so bad. He wants to travel light. Let them take his heart and his lungs, what use does he have for them?  
They did River first, Zoe, says. This is what is was like for her, because she didn't even understand.  
Show him Simon, Kaylee says. Show him what it was like for Simon.  
Yes, Zoe says. Now she takes the scalpel, now she carves Kaylee while Mal screams and screams and he would do something to stop it, he would save her, but there is no way to move, there is no energy in him, no blood, no breath, and too late he tries to put back into place the vitals they stripped from him.

It is always his fault and he doesn't know why, he doesn't know how he could have done different. He haunts the boat, a phantom hoping not to run into anyone, doesn't know what he'll say if he does.

Outside the infirmary, Simon and River sit side by side. River's head is bowed as she whispers, and Simon is her kind confessor, listening intently, stroking her hand. When they hear his footsteps, their faces rise to him as one, but he knows that River must have sensed his arrival long before her brother became aware.

He knows River sees, he knows she's going to speak, and it's lucky Simon's with her, because he would even hit her to shut her up. True, she'd hit him back twice as hard. True, she could kill him with one blow, but he'd try to throw her down if he thought it would close her mouth. "Don't start," he says, speaking to her, to him, to both of them, "I ain't in the mood."

River narrows her eyes, "Xiong mao za jiao, you don't hold all the cards here. All you've got is one lousy ace, so don't you start ."

"River!" Simon admonishes. "Don't talk to the Captain like that." River looks at her brother with her eyes widening, her body curling forward as she wraps her arms around her shoulders, as though to demonstrate that she's just a helpless little girl and her big brother shouldn't be mean to her.

"It's alright," Mal says. "I been called worse."

"Worse than a molester of pandas?"

"Considerable worse. Still, she's got a mouth on her."

River sticks out her tongue. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here. And I'm always here. I'm here, h-e-r-e, and I hear, h-e-a-r, even if I don't want it. And I don't want it."

"Sorry," Simon says, after he's sure she's finished speaking. Mal's not sure who Simon's speaking to, he says it so quiet, like he's talking to himself. Gorramit, that's a strange thought. Why would a man need to apologize to himself?

"Compassion," River says, as though his thoughts are meant for her. "Compassion for the suffering of the self begets compassion for the suffering of others. Maitri in Sanskrit, metta in Pali. No separation. A man comes to Simon with a broken ankle. Simon's ankle is broken. Everyone's ankle is broken. The ankle of the world, healed by Simon, in one man." While she speaks, she traces circles on the back of Simon's hand. "Mandalas," she says, "to protect you." Her finger slows, then stops completely.

"Thank you," Simon says.

"Shall I protect you?" River asks Mal.

The idea of being touched by River, who already knows his thoughts, his fears, makes his skin crawl. "That don't look like much, even if I needed it."

"But do you need it?"

"No."

"No. Don't even know if it would work, anyway. I doubt it. I doubt all of it. Just stories, what I tell you, theories at best. But there's something to be learned, even from lies." Her eyes narrow. "Even from dreams."

"You give me a headache, girl." He turns away from her. "Can't you give me something?" he asks Simon.

"I could," Simon replies, slow and reluctant.

"Give me something," Mal says, but Simon stays still. "Do I have to say please?"

"Alright, alright." He gets up slowly, rests his hand on top of River's head for a moment.

"It's so simple," she whispers, once her brother's out of range. "You're such a fool not to see it. In the day's light, you ain't sorry for anyone, not even your own gorram self. But all that gou shi's deep down, don't you see that? It's there and you feel it when you sleep. Do you understand, Mal? You put things away so you can do your job, so you can survive." She fixes her eyes on him. They are soft, open, as though she is channeling Kaylee. "Yes, like your mei mei. I can be like Kaylee. I can be like anyone, for a moment. Do you know who you would be without your dreams?"

"You."

"Yes. Me. You don't want to be like me."

She's strongest, deadliest. Does that make her the most powerful? Could she have made a difference in circumstances where he had found himself helpless? "I can see how there might be an upside to it."

"Now you're being Kaylee. Optimism despite billions of reasonable doubts, all the signs that this 'verse gives, showing her its teeth, its willingness to rip her apart." It gives him a sick feeling in his belly, the specter of Kaylee being in danger. "But we don't need to talk about this," River says. "You couldn't bear what I know." She reaches her fingertips, nails shorn down by Simon so that she can not hurt herself, to rest for a moment on Mal's bottom lip. Leans in close, as though to breathe words into his mouth, bring him back to life with her knowledge. "Don't be afraid," she exhales, and is gone.

Simon returns with a green bottle and two small glasses. "This should work," he says, putting the glasses on the table, holding the drink out to Mal, who takes the offering into his hands. He is aware of Simon standing in front of him. He is aware that, in this moment, Simon feels sorry for him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He opens the bottle; the smell is strong. Good. It'll put him out quick. He places it on the table without drinking. "What were you two talking about 'fore I walked in?"

Simon shrugs. "What were you and River talking about out here?"

"Dreams," Mal admits.

"Ah, yes. Our topic was the same. Sometimes, if she has trouble sleeping, she talks to me about them."

"They always nightmares?"

"Usually, yes. Not always. It helps her to tell."

"Don't imagine you like hearing it."

Sometimes Mal gets to wonderin' what Simon's brain is doing before he talks. There's no question that he don't say the first thing that comes to mind, no, he waits and then he says somethin' else. And Mal wonders what the first thing is, what are those words, because they was probably better than where he ends up. "All that matters is that she feels better."

So, if that was what Simon had got round to saying, it couldn't have been his first impulse. "It's always hard going, once you accept a burden, head down into rough terrain."

Simon turns his doctor's eyes on Mal. He fakes control, but Mal can see the spark of wild deep down in the pupil, the place where he and his sister are the same. "She is NOT a burden."

Mal puts up both his hands, shakes his head. "That's not what I mean to say."

"No?"

"No. I was just sayin' any man who has a responsibility, even one he's glad to have, even then it can weigh on you, that's all I was sayin'."

"Is that what makes it hard to sleep?"

"What?"

"What weighs on you."

"I ain't a lil' girl and I ain't gonna tell you my dreams."

"That's good, because I didn't plan on listening."

Mal lets himself sink down into the sofa, rests his head back against the pillows. "I just need the drink."

"Wait your turn." Simon pours into one of the glasses he's brought. When he puts the bottle down on the table, Mal grabs it up and begins to swig. "Must you do that? I brought you a glass." Mal ignores him. "Manners are a ritual," Simon says. "Like most rituals, time empties them of their original meaning. Manners were intended to display respect for our comrades, our fellows. My parents, all their friends, everyone I grew up with, they're slaves to etiquette. But I don't respect propriety anymore. I can't believe I ever did. It's no proof of nobility."

"Nobility? In my experience, people who get off on looking down on everyone else always turn out to be the worst scum of all."

"I don't mean nobility in the sense of social rank. I'm talking about courage, kindness."

"And you had to waste all that breath just to tell me it don't really bother you when I drink out of the bottle?"

"I suppose."

"You're in a sorry state, you think a man like me is kind."

"No, I don't think that."

"Courage, then?"

"Yes."

"Well. I'll drink to that."

"Please do," Simon says, and tips his glass to Mal in silent salute.


End file.
